Once,
I lost a dream
over rolling waves and
tipsy moonbeams.
My fears
were chasing me
all around my chest at night –
loneliness and envy
were set out on a quest
to capture my heart,
to set me off ease
and eventually I got tired
of kicking and screaming so
success and happiness
drowned down in my heart and
I slowly sunk south
to bury this cursed mark
of failure and sympathy
that clung around me
like a warm blanket with
never ending seams.

What if
we have this all wrong
and thoughts
are just
old cardboard boxes
we used to play in
as children
that are sitting on
the side of the road,
waiting for trash day.
But maybe I’m
just bitter since
my thoughts were
stacked neat and nice
up on the ridge
I sat on at night
until the wind came over
and I fell over
and now everything just
blows away
and now
I have to throw these
ruined thoughts
d e e p
d
o
w
n
in the bay.

I’m not sure
if I understand the concept
of time
because sometimes
hours pass like minutes and
I’m often left wondering
where this thing
called time went –
it drags on
most days,
kicking its heels
in the dust –
but then I realized
blinking numbers and
ticking arrows
don’t really matter.

She liked to tightrope around ideas, tip toeing along thin lines and speculation to get from one train of thought to the next. It wasn’t the recklessness she loved; she could find that anywhere if she tried hard enough. No, it was the complete lack of control that she felt that drew her and the crowds every night as she climbed the ladder and smiled to herself. Everything else about her – the clothes, the laugh, the perfect “farm girl” turned circus attraction – was all carefully planned but this, this was her time to shine. This was her time to play Russian Roulette, replacing empty barrels with leaden feet and one misplaced step that could end it all. This was her time that she loved.